When two roads diverge
by MynameisJudeLouise
Summary: Bella is a poor hippie student of Cleveland high, selling herself to pay for her family's food. Edward is a Star Wars junkie who works at a record shop, and listens to indie rock. What happens when there "paths" diverge? Will love bloom?


This book is not a book.

So if you were under the ludicrous impression that you were holding a _book_ in your hands, you are quite mistaken. No, in fact you are hold much more than that. You have quite possibly stumbled upon the most important manuscript ever written.

No, I am not over confident in my writing, but I happen to know that this bit of information _must_ be published. You, by reading this "guide", which I have now christened my not-book, will learn how to _live your life._

You see, many people live their lives without living; they simply go through the motions without considering what they are going to put themselves through later. They simply go through the day to day, the ol' grind, the boring, monotonous things that they do day in and day out. They marry unhappy, have unhappy children, and inevitably, died unhappy.

There are, however the few people who dare to say _no. _ Who dare to think freely. Who dare to live passionately, wildly, and let other people's expectations of them go, and be who they _want_ to be.

P.2

Chapter 1 –morning. Bella pov:

I woke, and immediately, out of instinct, began assessing my situation on this particular morning. A Monday, I believe. I, because of the way I live, must ask my self a series of questions each morning: First, the biggy. "_Where am I?" _

You would be surprised at the times I have not been able to answer that, and instead of being a normal child and waking up to know I am safe in my own bed, I have to peep out of the blanket, and take a look around as the events of the night come back to me.

Once upon a time, I used to begin my days crying, because the night was over, and I could no longer pretend that I _wanted_ to be touched, _wanted_ to follow random men into rooms that weren't mine, _wanted _to party with people I didn't know, _wanted _to drink endlessly. I could no longer pretend I wasn't _me. _On this morning, however I woke with no tears, as they dried up when my heart hardened. I peeped out of the thin sheet I had cast over my naked body the night before, thread count as low as possible, making the blanket thin and uncomfortable, not to mention cold. I took note of the shabby room I was in, that I had walked into late last night after a particularly loud party. The walls were brown paneled wood, the carpet a dark mustard color that actually may have once resembled cream.

For half a moment, I wondered if the bed was going to have someone other than me for a moment. I took a hopeful breath, and quickly glanced at the mattress next to me.

Empty. My heart sunk, and my eyes stung with tears I would not let fall, but I should have known it was coming. There was _never _anyone next to me in bed. It was just me, always. The man I go into the room with never actually leaves with me.

So, I go through routine. I move on. I pick up my clothes and dress. I grab the money last night's random man left me on the dresser and counted it. Almost two hundred dollars; not bad for being under age; I must have been pretty drunk last night, or he was, so he wasn't counting. I quickly find the exit of the house and leave before a parent or policeman (police being more probable,) can find me and tell me what a stupid kid I am. Trust me, authority, I know. I am a _stupid_ kid. I climb into my car and thought over my reasons that I had carefully constructed when I decided to do this.

Its not like I didn't have reason for the way I lived, trust me, I did. And it is defiantly _not _like I was proud of it. I suppose, one of the main reasons I did this was because of my home life. I wasn't however, blaming this on my parent. No way was I letting the crap conditions of my life fall on my mother's already loaded shoulders. Sure, she doesn't get a 'parent of the year' award, but hey, she doesn't _mean_ to hit me, verbally abuse me, and she certainly doesn't mean to tell me I'm a worthless piece of crap, and a good for nothing loser. (I'm editing out their language for your sake, of course.)

You might have noticed by now, I'm am using sarcasm. My mother (because my dad up and left ages ago) is the worst mother of six in the world. She drinks all the time, is a habitual liar, and hits all of us, and virtually has no heart. I was almost proud when she got her first job since my dad left at the local gas station. She uses most of the money on her self, but that's okay, I have a job. Well, kind of a job.

I got paid for having sex with random guys.

Another reason I do this, I need the money. That's it, my biggest reason. I simply have to provide for a family of seven all by myself. I spend nothing on myself. Every penny goes to my family's food and shelter, and the house bills and extra things that just come up when_ life_ happens. Some people call me selfless, considering I have exactly nothing to myself.

I have a secret, though. One last reason I do what I do, that I have never told anyone. I do this for; I suppose you could call it a form of attention. There is that final second, right before a guy screws me, that I am his world, the center of his attention. I am everything that matters to him, and he would do anything for me. It was that look in his eyes that tells me he loves me, wants me, and wants to make me happy. Then it is over. He stands, pulls on his clothes, gives me some money, and heads for the door.

Some people call me a whore. I call me desperate. Not for _attention_ exactly, but another form of it.

I'm desperate to feel _loved._

Chapter 2.— Hope. Edward pov:

I woke to the _beep_ _beep_ _beeping_ of my star trek alarm clock and smacked it to shut it up. What day was it? Monday, my brain told me after a few moments of pondering. You watched the spelling bee last night and then studied for an honors physiology and anatomy test today. I laid there for a minute more to recuperate from the early morning hour. Six o' clock. Time when I had to start my life. Time to go to school, ignore snickers from our rude student body, and then admire Bella.

At this point, I don't know why I still hold a torch for her. We have known each other our whole lives, and she saw me go from a geeky six year old to a pathetically geeky 17 year old. I, however, saw her…flourish? Bloom? Whatever the word for it was, it was a miraculous process that happened to her. One year she was stringy, short, and with a boyish figure and attitude. Then, the next year she comes back with curves, highlights, and a to die for smile; not that I got to see it often. Bella isn't really one for smiling. I understand, though. She has about the roughest life anyone _could_ have. Everyone knew her mother was an alcoholic, and everyone knew what Bella did to pay the bills around the house. Some people called her a whore, a prostitute, and other names that made me want to punch their faces in. I, however, know she is desperate, broken, and still amazing at heart, even if no one want to tell her. _I _would, if I could finally chalk up the nerve to do so.. Sometimes, when me and Warrick sit around, and talk about what we could change in the world, I tell him that I would have him punch the lights out of anyone who ever called my Bella a bad name. He laughs, ruffles my hair like my dad used to, and tells me I dream big…_just like dad used to. _

My heart wrenched in my chest. _Dad._ I missed him. I missed him so much it hurt. Warrick and I have no secrets, but I would never tell him about my dad. Well, I would never talk to him about it. Warrick basically has his life set. Great parents, great friends, beautiful house and a free ride to any collage on his football scholarship. I however, have three little sisters and a mom who works full time for just over minimum wage as a sectary at a law firm. She is stressed out of her mind, and sometimes takes it out on us kids for no reason. I don't blame her at all. My father is currently in the hospital, after a terrible accident at the oil refinery he used to work at. He is a vegetable at the hospital, in a terminal coma. My mother would safe a lot of money by pulling the plug, but she says she will only do that when she is absolutely sure my father has no chance of returning. She is "waiting for a sign from the heavens"; my mother is a huge hippie. I know, my life sounds like a lifetime movie plot, but it all happened. It's all true, and it's all making my life a nightmare. Maybe someday I'll have learned enough about what is wrong with my dad to make a cure for him. That's why I'm setting off to medical school next year, majoring in medical research. I'm not supposed to graduate till the year after this year; I'm starting my junior year today.

I think, maybe, if I get a head start on my medical career, I can bring my dad home for my mother, for my whole family, and maybe we will all be happy again.

Just _maybe. _

Chapter 3—My home. Bella pov:

I pulled into the driveway a little past seven, to see my mother's car in the driveway. Fabulous. I do not need her crap on top of a hangover, and school, or purgatory, if your me. I walk slowly into the house, and pause by the door to listen. For a moment, I consider walking away and back to my car, and going to school as is. _Coward._ My brain sneers at me. Well, thanks self. That's re-assuring.

I open the chipped door of my house and quickly scan the room. The house I stayed in last night was almost nice compared to what I live in. The carpet was covered in cigarette burns, stains, and a general coat of disgusting. The walls were a gross shade of yellow and the whole house smelled like piss and smoke. I gave up on cleaning it a long time ago. The coffee table is piled up with liquor bottles, and all the windows are crusted over with grim and dust. However all bad that is, my mother was the most pathetic thing in the whole house. She was sober today, for a change, I noted with supreme surprise. The fact that she wasn't wasted didn't make her look much better. She was in a small silk robe; one that barely covered her and that was hanging low over her visible rib cage and protruding collarbones. She was a skeleton, but that was to be expected; she drank most of her meals. The rest of her wasn't that much better, actually, the rest of her looked like hell. Her skin was blotchy and red from constant drinking, and her hair was a hopelessly tangled mess of stringy brown noodles. Her eyes had bags around them, and they were the saddest things you ever did see. Back when she was with my father, those would sparkle and change color in the light. Now, they were just dull, sad, and lifeless, and usually drunk.

"Where were you last night, bitch?" her first words to me. So gentle, right?

"A party." Hey, honesty is my policy.

"How much?" Oh, she needed money. That meant I wasn't giving her any. I needed that money to buy food for all of sibling's food for the week. She would buy liquor with it, no doubt. Her buying alcohol always was a dead give away that she was planning on getting hammered and then beating the crap out of me. I thought of a quick lie, and hoped she wouldn't notice I was avoiding her gaze.

"He stiffed me, there was nothing there this morning." I said quickly, looking away. Her rough hand grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. Her eyes scanned my face, and then her hand pulled back to smack me hard across the face, so I stumbled back, holding my head, ready for a second blow. It didn't come.

"Give me at least eighty, or you'll regret it." She said in a calm voice that told me she thought there was no fault in the way she treated me. I hurried to my purse in the car and gave her the money. She left to her room, turning before she went in.

"You keep the rest, whore, maybe you can buy yourself some dignity." She marched into her room, clearly proud of herself, and slammed the door behind her.

I breathed a sigh. She didn't beat me. _ She didn't beat me._ A slow smile crept onto my face, and I set out to get ready for my first day as a junior at Cleveland High School, Illinois.


End file.
